


ner aliit

by MageOfCole



Series: Cole Does Whumptober 2020 [29]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arla Fett Deserves Better, Brainwashing, Comfortember 2020, Family, Gen, Good Parent Jango Fett, Jango Fett Needs a Hug, Lashing Out, Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mandalorian Shmi Skywalker, Past Torture, Past Violence, Protective Jango Fett, Soft Jango Fett, Whumptober 2020, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, reluctant bedrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageOfCole/pseuds/MageOfCole
Summary: (my family)For over a decade Jango had thought his sister was dead, that she had burned with their parents; he had never imagined that he'd get her back. His twenty-three now, his sister would be in her thirties but she was still the fouteen year old preparing for her verd'goten in his head.(No.29 - I Think I Need A Doctor)(No.8 - Lashing Out)
Relationships: Arla Fett & Jango Fett, Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Cole Does Whumptober 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949908
Comments: 24
Kudos: 429





	ner aliit

Jango had never imagined getting his sister back. He had thought, for over a decade, that his _ori’vod_ was dead, that she had died all those years ago with their buire when _Kyr’tsad_ had burned their family’s farm. He had spent years with Arla’s name at the top of his Remembrances, unknowing that she was alive and that _Kyr’tsad_ had her in their grasp. He had left his _ori’vod_ to be tortured and twisted until she was a chained pet to be released whenever Vizsla wanted someone dead.

Vizsla had probably taken some sort of sick enjoyment out of sending his own sister after him, most likely looking to get the Darksaber back but was not willing to face Jango or his Foundling in combat himself. So he had sent Jango’s own family to kill them and bring the _dha’kad_ to him instead of doing anything himself, and Arla had tried. They had been docked and resupplying, and she must have snuck on board while they had been busy - likely the blood she shared with Jango had let her slip past the security.

Manda, Jango had nearly killed her. He hadn’t known it at the time, all he had seen was a _Kyr’tsad ramikad_ pinning Ben and ready to slit his throat, and Jango had thrown himself forward to defend his son. It had been Ben - Ben who had never let go of the morals he had been raised with, despite declaring his quest for _cin vhetin_ upon earning his _beskar’gam_ and passing his _verd’goten_ \- who had stopped Jango from killing his attacker. It was Ben, the boy who refused to kill unless absolutely necessary, even with all the evils in the Galaxy and everything he had been through, who had pulled Jango off of the limp _Kyr’tsadii_ and removed the woman’s helmet.

Jango had nearly lost what little remained of his cool in that moment, stiffening in shock and horror. Arla was almost identical to their mother, though Jango could see himself in her jaw and nose and the shape of her eyes, and her colouring had been their father’s. He remembers that, as a teenager, Arla had idolized their retired _ori’ramikad_ mother, and had wanted to be just like her, to the point she had dyed her brown hair blonde and spent an hour every morning straightening her curls. When he had been eight he had found it annoying to be locked out of the bathroom while his _di’kutla ori’vod_ did _di’kutla_ things, but after the farm had burned, he had guarded even the most annoying memories of his family jealousy. Now though, there’s not a hint of blonde in Arla’s thick curls, and where her skin had once been golden-brown, it was now pale and ashen and covered in scars from torture and cruelty that he had gotten a peek of while Shmi had been tending to her injuries.

Jango had been able to experience love and family after their _Buire_ had been murdered, but Arla had only known pain and torment.

He had spent the last few days sitting beside his sister’s bacta tank, watching her float limply in the thick liquid and reacquainting himself with her face. It had made him painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t remember her voice, that he could barely remember _her_. She’s in her thirties now, and she was so very different from the fourteen year old girl preparing for her _verd’goten_ that he could remember. All the baby fat was gone from her face, and there’s a scar across the bridge of her nose that Jango couldn’t remember being there - so many thick, ropey scars stretched across any part of her body that he could see. He hadn’t seen her since he was eight - he’s twenty-three now, and he likes to think that he looks like his father, but finding Arla has made him painfully aware of the fact that he can barely remember them anymore.

What kind of _ad_ and _vod_ is he that he can’t remember his familys’ faces? Would Arla hate him for moving on, for finding a new _aliit_ while she had been tortured?

Arla had been pulled out of bacta just that morning, and it had been painful for Jango to cuff his sister to the medical cot, but he didn’t really have much of a choice. He has two non-combatants on the ship, and a son that Arla had already once tried to kill. As much as Jango hates it, his sister is a prisoner and an assassin, and he has no idea what Death Watch had done to her over the years, or what kind of state her mind is in.

Even so, knowing all of that didn’t mean it hadn’t torn something in him when his sister had immediately tried to throw herself at him, intent to harm, the moment she had opened her eyes. Arla had snarled, twisting against the restraints, teeth bared in fury, and a firm Shmi had ordered Jango out of the room as she’d given his sister a sedative. So Jango had left, trusting Shmi to look after herself and Arla.

“ _Traitor_!” Arla had screamed at him, and the words had struck deep.

He finds himself feeling lost, staring at the wall, and wondering what he could possibly do to fix this. He hadn’t thought his hatred of _Kyr’tsad_ could grow any hotter and yet here he is, with a sister he had believed dead for most of his life, twisted and broken and turned into an assassin for the very people who had murdered their _Buire_ and who he hated more than anything, even the _Jetiise_. _Kyr’tsad_ had taken everything from him; his parents, his _Buir_ , his _aliit_ , his sister, his honour. He could reach out to the others; he knows that there are _Haat’ade_ still out there, people who had followed Jaster, who had followed Jango, and people who would come the moment he called. Roz had given him a list of contacts of _Mando’ade_ who were still loyal to the Mand’alor. There were people with the right sort of training who could help him help Arla. He hadn’t considered calling them before - he’s unworthy of their loyalty, but for his _aliit_ , he’d be willing to do anything.

Jango lets out a heavy breath, turning on his heel to march towards his room - _Jaster’s_ old room - in search of the comm codes, thoughts dark. His people didn’t deserve Jango dragging them back into his problems, but Arla also doesn’t deserve what happened to her and needs help. He doesn’t trust a hospital to protect her from _Kyr’tsad_ should they come for her, but he does trust the True Mandalorians.

The disgraced Mand’alor pauses in front of his door, tightening his hand around his _buy’ce_ and tapping his fingers against the visor. He sighs slowly, closing his eyes and muttering a quick prayer to the Manda for courage and to the Ka’ra for luck, before gathering himself and typing in the code to the door and stepping into his room. He strides over to the storage chest at the base of his bunk, opening it to rifle through the belongings until he finds the datapad Roz had handed him back when he and Ben had first gone to her for work after escaping the spice freighter.

He staring at one name on the list, an open expression of pain on his face - there’s so few of them, compared to what they had once been, and that’s on him. Mij Gilamar - he remembers the man. Or more accurately he remembers his _riduur_ ; Tani Gilamar had been on Galidraan, she had been one of his _ramikade_. Mij had been a dedicated _baar’ur_ , and while he had married a Mando’ad, he had never worn _beskar’gam_ , preferring to heal rather than fight, but Jango had seen him spar with Tani enough to know that he could.

Mij would be his best choice to help Arla, but would he want to do anything for Jango after he had gotten his _riduur_ killed.

He looks up when the door hisses open, letting Ben peer into his room. His son cut an impressive figure in Jango’s old beskar’gam, the one that he wore after passing his own _verdgotten_ but painted dark red and white, and his _buy’ce_ tucked under his arm - he looks like a true _Mando’ad_ , and Jango wonders if this is what Jaster felt every time he saw him in his armour. He watches Jango with worried eyes.

“Are you alright, Buir?” The teenager asks, stepping into Jango’s room and letting the door slide shut behind him. “Shmi told me our guest woke up.” Blue eyes study him intently, and Jango’s shoulders slump at the reminder, Arla’s words rattling in his head. “I can sense that you’re upset.” Ben lowers himself to his knees next to him with the unnatural grace of a Jedi, head tilting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jango huffs out a laugh, “You do know I’m supposed to be the _buir_ , right, Ben’ika?”

His _ad_ ’s eyes sparkle, and Jango can already feel the weight of his past easing with the boy’s small smile. “So you are.” Ben says cheerfully, “I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed.”

“Brat.” Jango murmurs fondly, flicking the fourteen year old across the forehead. Still, Ben had passed his _verd’goten_ and was considered an adult by Old Mandalorian law, even if he is still young and inexperienced and still needed guidance. Jas’buir had allowed Jango to lead his own squad at fourteen, and Mandalorians knew better than anyone that ade were just as competent as those who were fully grown. He sighs again, “Arla needs special care right now.” Jango tells Ben, who listens attentively. “Things we can’t get her without help.”

Ben’s head tilts again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “Like a mind healer?”

Jango taps Mij’s name on the list, “ _Baar’ur_ Gilamar is a doctor, and a very good one. All Mandalorian doctors are trained in _mirjahaal_ for wounded _verde_.”

“One cannot heal physically if they don’t also heal spiritually.” Ben states knowingly, and Jango ruffles his hair.

“Learn that from your fancy Core Temple, did you, _ad’ika_?”

Ben grins crookedly, “We were all expected to attend minor healing classes.” He shrugs, “I wasn’t very good at it.” Then his blue eyes grow sharp in the way that makes Jango feel like the boy was looking into his soul. “Arla will be fine, Buir.” Ben states, “We’ll help her; she’s _aliit_.”

 _Aliit_ , it’s a nice thought.


End file.
